


Somewhere Along in the Bitterness

by D_Veleniet



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Episode VIII: The Last Jedi, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Also Ben wrecks things, Angst, Ben is a wreck, F/M, Force Bond, Hurt/Comfort, Post-TLJ, Save Ben Solo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-03
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2019-02-27 21:41:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13257195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/D_Veleniet/pseuds/D_Veleniet
Summary: Rey.Staring, open-mouthed, her horror-stricken gaze sizing him up, taking in the bloodlust in his eyes, the lip curled in a snarl, the shards of metal that paint his face and his clothes, the places where his knuckles cracked and blood oozes out of the splits, staining his gloves.Shock.  Fear.  Horror.Then disgust.  Disappointment.Until – her visage falls by inches, and swirling around her –Sorrow.Regret.





	Somewhere Along in the Bitterness

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Castiloar for not only the lightning-fast beta for this but also for drawing me into the Reylo fold last year with her fics (in particular, No Ill Will :)). V, as always, you unapologetically rock!

Kylo Ren stomps his way back through the corridor after they return from the failed expedition to Crait, the oppressive weight of his presence scattering Stormtroopers and officers in his wake.  Hux initially follows behind at a hastened clip, but mutters a quick excuse and swiftly scampers off to return to his post.

Long live the Supreme Leader indeed.

He doesn’t even have to lift his hand for the door to bang open – it obeys his will, slamming shut behind him, the sound too dull for his liking.  He wants it to reverberate loud enough that everyone hears it and cringes, from the top levels down to the bowels of the ship, from the petty officers to the Stormtroopers to  _that sniveling weasel Hux –_

Sound explodes around him before he remembers summoning his power. The posts on his bed are torn, metal shrieking at the command of his now clenched fingers - but it isn’t enough.  He reaches for the crippled bar, needing to  _feel_ the destruction, feel the integrity of the metal give way and buckle under his fingers, how it vibrates from his knuckles to his shoulders as the steel splinters, shards flying into the air -

The next post is in his hands without a second thought, and this he lashes out with as though it were his saber, striking at the wall, wrenching it back and thrusting forward, his teeth gritted, eyes slits of fury as he hurls it into the unforgiving durasteel again and again, until finally it chips, and then it is only a matter of brute strength to bash into the wall, the gap expanding, a dark maw to bear witness to his rage, and he imagines it is the mouth of Hux as the life seeps out of him, the mouths of his enemies frozen in shock, stretching wider into screams of terror, and his smile is grim as their blood spatters his face, as they flail, helpless to his power –

A wave of sickness slams into him like a brick wall, making him drop the post as he doubles over, whipping his head up to find –

Rey.

Staring, open-mouthed, her horror-stricken gaze sizing him up, taking in the bloodlust in his eyes, the lip curled in a snarl, the shards of metal that paint his face and his clothes, the places where his knuckles cracked and blood oozes out of the splits, staining his gloves.

Shock.  Fear.  Horror.

Then disgust.  Disappointment.

Until – her visage falls by inches, and swirling around her –

Sorrow.

_Regret_.

She opens her mouth like she might address his state, but then a quick turn of her head to the left as if she’s heard someone coming cuts off the thought.  She fades before his eyes, leaving a faint shimmer behind.  Or maybe that’s just the light glinting off the splinters of metal in the air.

He sags, head bowing, hand reaching for purchase as he slides down the ruined wall, sinking to his knees.  His breathing is ragged and uneven, and his head drops further, hands meeting his eyes as he crumples until his forehead hits the floor, the perfect image of reverent prayer.

Like he’s ever believed in anything.

His features scrunch as his shoulders heave, stomach with it, recalling the impact of Rey’s nausea, and he thinks he’s going to be sick, but then the wave crests over into a guttural roar, rage and pain and _anguish_ mixing together, a scream that is no longer strangled, tamped down as the familiar thoughts of  _emotions, yes, but are you just a whimpering child, Kylo Ren_? And he screams again, drowning out the echoes of that familiar voice, the one that had been in his head for as long as he could remember, no longer there to torment him, cut him down, tear him apart, strip away at him until he was just Rage, Power, Bloodlust and All-Consuming Darkness.  

_Ah, but isn’t that who you are?  And what is so wrong with being those things?_ _Did I not_ _tear down what was weak so_ _I could build you into_ _something greater?_

He shakes his head, turning over onto his side, hands moving to clamp down on his ears as if that will prevent him from hearing the voice, no longer physically manifest, thankfully not even a ghost - but still cruelly incisive as ever.

_Look at you._   The voice drips with disgust.   _Curled up on the floor like a baby, crying and whinging.  If your officers could see you now, the weak-minded little boy masquerading as Supreme Leader –_

“Stop!”  He roars, or thinks he does until it breaks off partway through.  

He is nothing; he is nobody.  He will never be as strong as the Supreme Leader.  As his Master.  

How foolish, how arrogant he had been to ever think he could usurp the throne, could ever replace the supreme wisdom and power and guidance of his one, true Master.  He had ruined it all.  He was never strong enough. Never  _would_  be strong enough.  He was weak and no one would ever listen to him and the First Order would topple under him and it would be all his fault, all his fault for killing – for  _murdering_  the one, true Master, all because he had let his  _emotions_ get the better of him for a  _girl_  –

“Stop.”

This time the voice doesn’t come from inside but from above him.  He peeks from between his clenched fingers to find Rey standing over him, her face awash in sorrow, in pain.

She crouches down next to him as he scrambles to sit, desperate to find a slightly more dignified position before her, the humiliation at being discovered like this flushing his skin, crawling up his throat and choking off any responses he could possibly come up with.

“You saved my life.”  It looks like it’s costing her to speak.  “Whatever your motives were, whatever came after…you could have killed me, but you didn’t.”  Her fingers twitch and she slowly moves her hand forward, the gentle pressure of her touch on the tips of his fingers warming him even through the material of his ruined gloves.  “Thank you.”  She addresses the point where their fingers meet, and his respond in kind, inching his hand from under hers to slide up to her knuckle, thumb catching underneath to encompass them fully and lightly he pulls.  She turns her palm to meet his, and his fingers slowly curl around the outside, their hands clasped.  His thumb strokes at her wrist, an absentminded touch, and he hears her catch of breath.

He wishes he had removed his glove so he can get another taste of that glorious, electric feeling of having her skin pressed against his, and that thought recalls the brief moment they had touched before, when she was on Ahch-To and he in his room.  Here.  Before Skywalker had so rudely interrupted them.  When he was the one there forher _,_  contented - no,  _enraptured_  to listen to her pour her heart out to him, every secret pain falling from her mouth a precious gift to be treasured, with no thoughts of how weak or foolish or overly trusting she seemed.  Her vulnerability had excited something in him, stirring something low in his gut, but for the first time, it had nothing to do with strategy or exploitation.  It was…that someone  _trusted_ him.  That for the first time – someone  _needed_ him.   And that maybe, just maybe – his presence didn’t inspire fear or loathing or disgust – or disappointment.  His presence was a  _comfort_ to her.

He doesn’t know how long they stay like that, her presence quieting his thoughts, soothing his roiling emotions, the warmth of her flowing through the Force bond and into him. When he feels the unmistakable tug of her hand starting to pull away, his tightens to keep her, eyes snapping up to hers in a silent plea.

_Don’t leave me.  Please._

Her surprise turns to apologetic resignation.  “I have to go.  I’ve already been away too long.”

What she sees in his eyes must be something to behold for her features all but crumple, and she pointedly doesn’t look at him as she gently but firmly withdraws her hand from his.

He already feels colder.

She stands to go, and now he is the one who won’t look, won’t watch her fade away, taking with her the warmth, the peace, the beautiful Light she embodies.  

“Hey.”

He feels a little nudge at his mind, but if he looks at her, he will shatter.

“Ben.”

Like a whip, the softly spoken name cracks his attention to her, sharp inhale to accompany it.  He is still  _Ben_  to her.  And that is something.

She holds his gaze, hers fiercely steady and fathomless, layers cautiously peeled back to reveal that the sorrow at their parting, the yearning, the  _longing_  he feels is not one-sided.  

He stares up at her, drinking her in, an echo of their last meeting when she had only grim resignation for him, sliding the door on their connection closed.  

_Rey._

“Just remember that you didn’t only save my life – you saved yours, too.”  She swallows, a new light sparking in her eyes.  “And it’s never too late.”

Finally, he finds his voice, a broken, raw thing that rumbles from his chest.  “To what?”  

“To start living.”

This time, she offers him a ghost of a smile before turning and walking away, her image fading as her footsteps recede into nothingness.

The room is quiet, his mind, for once – is calm.

And in the midst of the broken pieces that make up his mind, the jagged edges of darkness mixed with the furious, boiling seas of oil and fire that spit and sear, a tiny flicker crackles into existence – distant, faint, weak – but alive.

_Hope._

_*Fin*_      


End file.
